An Unconventional Confidence
by mooncarrotpie
Summary: AU. A Marriage Law is passed. Draco and Hermione have never met. A rainy afternoon changes that.


_A/N: this is based entirely on an L.M. Montgomery short story, "An Unconventional Confidence". I own neither the characters nor the plot—just the idea for this remix. This is an AU in which Draco went to Durmstrang and has not formally met Hermione. Nor did he take the Dark Mark._

One moment the sky roils with soupy clouds, and the next it lets out a crashing roar and begins to pour. People open umbrellas, or scramble for shelter in one of the street's many little stores. One young woman—a short, slight one with brown curly hair and high cheekbones—curses and breaks into a run. She melts into thin air between a bookshop and an ice-cream parlour.

Hermione Granger, safely inside the Leaky Cauldron, makes her way to the counter.

"A Butterbeer, please," she says, as Tom the old bartender greets her with a toothless smile.

"Might have trouble finding a seat, Miss Granger," says Tom, as he hands her the Butterbeer. With a glance around the pub, Hermione realises that this is true. The only available seats seem to be next to a fat witch who is crossly tending her three children, and across from a young wizard who lounges by the window with a glass of firewhiskey and a _Daily Prophet_. Like any person would, Hermione picks the window seat.

"D'you mind?" she asks the young wizard. He looks up at her. His unusually pale blonde hair falls across one eye as he does so.

"No, go ahead," he says, and turns away. He picks up his _Daily Prophet_ and returns to conning it.

Hermione sits down and stares out the streaky window as she takes a sip of Butterbeer. It trickles down her throat comfortingly. She turns to scrutinise the wizard. She has never seen him before, or she is sure she would know him. His face is not one easily forgotten. A foreigner, most likely. He is still frowning at the _Daily Prophet._

"Reading about the Marriage Law?" she asks.

The young wizard looks up and studies her, once over. "Yeah," he says, but offers no further comment.

"It's idiotic, isn't it," Hermione says. When the young man nods, she smiles at him. A corner of his lips tilts up in response. "I tried my best to stop them from passing it, but Kingsley was adamant."

"You had to do with passing it?"

"I work in Magical Law Enforcement, you know. I'm proud to say that I opposed that law with every ounce of fight I had in me, though."

"I'm glad to hear it," says the young wizard.

"But it passed, and I am of marriageable age," continues Hermione.

The young wizard looks up at her. "If you don't mind my asking, who was assigned to be your—partner?"

"Seems as if he went to Durmstrang, and his father was quite prominently involved with Voldemort, until he was killed at a revel early on, before the War."

The young wizard almost imperceptibly stiffens. "Interesting," he says neutrally.

"His name is Draco Malfoy," continues Hermione. "Such a name! I just know he'll be horrible."

"You do?" says the young wizard. His face still reveals no expression.

"Yes," says Hermione. "Everything I know about him just _reeks_. His name. His father was on the Dark side. And I—well—I wouldn't get along with such a—a _partner_. You see, I am Muggleborn. I fought with the Light."

"Maybe he isn't all that bad," says the young wizard. He is staring intently at her now.

"Oh, he will be," says Hermione. "Even if I put aside his family history, there is still the matter of his education. In my fourth year, when the Triwizard Tournament was held at Hogwarts, we were exposed to many wizards from Durmstrang. I'm afraid most of them did not endear themselves to me. One, when he found out I was Muggleborn, cast a spell on me that grew my front teeth to be the size of a beaver's."

The young wizard's grey eyes are unreadable. "Perhaps he will surprise you."

"Maybe," says Hermione, without much hope. "I've contacted Malfoy already, but I haven't even gotten an answer, so I am quite sure that he's just as horrible as I fear."

"Perhaps he was busy," says the wizard. "Pureblood heirs often are, with matters they can't avoid."

Hermione shudders. "You're probably right," she says. "But the very word 'pureblood heir' sends shivers down my back. You know," she says, leaning over the table confidentially, "since I don't know you, and you don't know me, I would like to tell you quite _everything_."

"Go ahead," he says.

"I know that they developed a spell to find supposedly the best partner for each witch and wizard," says Hermione. "And I've personally checked and rechecked the principles of the enchantment, and it does seem to be watertight. All my friends were matched with their current girlfriends or boyfriends. You know, Harry, Ginny, Luna, Rolf, ad nauseam. However, doesn't it seem possible to you that there might have been an error?"

"What makes you say that? Was there someone you were expecting to be engaged to?"

"Merlin, no," says Hermione. "But it is strange that they've matched me to my polar opposite, isn't it? And anyway, I reject the whole idea of the Marriage Law. If there were perfect matches, I do not think they would need a Law to find each other. And tossing wizards and witches together without any thought of consequences—it does seem like a disaster to me. The Wizarding World would have repopulated itself anyway. People always do, after a War. So this is my plan of action. If I can't find a mistake in the spell, I'm going to run away to America. I'm sure I don't want to meet my fiancé."

The young man shrugs. "You know," he says. "I think you are displaying just as much prejudice as any pureblood can."

Hermione draws herself up to her full height, which is not very much, compared to the young man's tall frame. "How so?"

"Well, you're making conclusions about a man you've probably never met, based mostly on things over which he has no control," he continues. "And while I'm not asking you to dance for joy over the fact that he's your spouse, still—don't you think you are being rather harsh?"

Hermione chews on her straw. "I suppose," she says, "I have never thought about it that way before. Still, though, I do hope he won't be as horrible as those Durmstrang boys."

"They were boys," says the young man. "A lot can have changed. I suppose you yourself have changed quite a bit, since then."

"Not in essentials," says Hermione. "But yes, I suppose you're right, again."

For a second the young man's eyes change into an expression that reminds Hermione of a smirk. His mouth, however, does not move. "If, as you say yourself, you've checked and rechecked the spellwork involved—and I assume you speak from a position of competency—isn't it a leap of faith to assume that there is a mistake?"

"Well," says Hermione, "well, it's _possible_ there's a mistake, and I wouldn't want to rule out the _possibility—_ "

"And think," says the young man, his grey eyes wide and animated, "for a moment, from the pureblooded heir's perspective."

"Yes?" says Hermione.

"He has probably been expecting all his life to be matched off to another pureblooded heir—possibly not a very interesting one—and to encounter all the problems stemming therefrom. I'm sure you've heard of them—infertility, discontentment, a cold gloomy mansion, any children that _are_ born having a high risk of being a Squib or otherwise magically disabled. But those problems are a reality to him, and as he is of marriageable age, a _near_ reality."

"Oh," shudders Hermione, "that is _horrible_."

"He has probably felt trapped and caged all his life. When, as you say, his father joined the Dark, he was probably only a boy. If he was a bully, as he most likely was, it might have been in large part due to the fear and coldness he suffered at home. It has most likely taken him years to get over the trauma of seeing his own father swallowed up by the Dark, of seeing his own home occupied by sadistic, bloodthirsty wizards."

He pauses, and Hermione waits with baited breath.

"After the War, there must have been changes, of course. His family's assets were probably frozen for a while. And then there must have been the whole matter of burying his father. He most definitely had to rethink his view of Muggleborns. And then there came the Law.

"When he saw that he was matched with the war heroine, Hermione Granger," says the young man, "for that _is_ who you are, isn't it—do you not think he was terrified? After all, he's probably read your name in the papers, seen you exulted as a paragon of virtue and bravery and everything he's never attained in his life. Perhaps that's why he did not answer your letters. Hypothetically, it's perfectly possible that he felt shell-shocked."

"Perfectly possible," echoes Hermione.

"But also," he continues, "he might have been hopeful. If such a one as he, who had grown up in the Darkest environment possible and been twisted towards hate, could be matched with Hermione Granger by an outwardly infallible spell, he might have thought—well, there's hope for me yet. You've released him, you know, from a life that was prescribed for him but might have been completely unwanted."

"When you put it like that," says Hermione, her eyes shining, "when you put it like that, it's all different."

"Is it?" says the young man. "I do hope it is."

Two bright red spots have appeared high on his cheeks. Hermione thinks it is the first glitch in his calm demeanour she has seen. She looks admiringly at him: his clear-cut features and his eyes. If, she thinks, if her match has grey eyes like this, then it's perfectly possible that she might not run to America after all.

"I think," she says, "I think you have convinced me to stay and meet this young man: if and when he does choose to come to London and contact me. However, I will expect the worst, still. That is safest, you know."

"Of course," he says. His eyes linger on her. It seems silent though the pub is noisy with chatter.

Hermione is about to ask him if he _knows_ Draco Malfoy, to speak so passionately about his life, but she notices, suddenly, that the rain has stopped.

"Well," she says, "I'm glad I've hashed that out with you. You've really been most enlightening. I'm not so angry as I was before, and I feel—I feel almost _ready_ to meet him now. Perhaps," she gathers her coat, "I will see you again."

She misses the quirk of the young man's mouth as he says, "Perhaps you will."

When Hermione returns to the apartment she shares with Ginny, she can tell by Ginny's expression that something has happened.

"What is it, Ginny?" she asks.

"It's—well, it's Malfoy," Ginny replies. "There's been an owl from him. Here, read it."

Hermione tears open the piece of parchment Ginny hands her.

"Dear Miss Granger," she reads aloud. "I'm sorry for my late reply, but have been inextricably busy. Of course we should meet, and I've just Floo'ed in to London this morning. You can decide on the place. Yours, Draco Malfoy."

"Well," says Ginny, "he seems nice enough."

"I'll give you that the letter was unobjectionable," says Hermione gloomily. "Ginny, you know, I've decided to meet him."

"Hermione!"

"It's true, I have," says Hermione.

"But what changed your mind! I've never known you to change your mind on a subject before."

"I got caught in the rain and went in the Leaky Cauldron for a bit," says Hermione, "and started talking to a young man there—who said some things that made me see it a different way—and so I've decided to at least give Malfoy a chance."

"This must have been no ordinary young man," observes Ginny.

"He wasn't," agrees Hermione. "He had the most beautiful grey eyes."

"What was his name?"

"I don't know," says Hermione. "Ginny, are you going to Harry's tonight?"

"Yeah," says Ginny. "Why?"

"It's—" Hermione glances at the clock— "four, and if I'm going to meet Malfoy today I want the flat empty by six."

"I'm on it," grins Ginny.

At six the oven emits the herby smell of roasting chicken. The table is set for two. Ginny has made herself scarce. The flat's doorbell rings.

Hermione, in her jeans and an apron, goes to open the door.

In the entrance stands the young man she'd met in the afternoon.

For a moment she stands speechless.

"Hi," he says, with a shy smile on his usually expressionless face, "I'm Draco Malfoy. And I _am_ sorry I used _Densaugeo_ on your teeth in fourth year."

"No," says Hermione, blushing. "No, it's quite all right."


End file.
